


and you, my love, are gone

by thebriars



Series: drumfred ficlets [3]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drumfred, M/M, More angst, Sad, Sadness, Short, im sorry, its really just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:29:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebriars/pseuds/thebriars
Summary: It was a fine morning for a ride- Alfred did love the sun, and what with the recent rainy streak, it was lovely to feel it on his skin again.••if 2x08 was flipped





	and you, my love, are gone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minnesotamemelord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnesotamemelord/gifts).



> minnesotamemelord VICBEET
> 
>  
> 
> thank you to Otter for being a great beta and to mml for moral support about drumfred at 2am

It was a fine morning for a ride- Alfred did love the sun, and what with the recent rainy streak, it was lovely to feel it on his skin again.

The Queen insisted on her weekly outings, a parasol perched lightly over her shoulder and Albert by her side, waving to locals as they passed. Alfred himself did not see the thrill of parading around with self importance. (He was a humble man at heart, though it was veiled by the pomp and formality of life in court.) Victoria did not do it on purpose, as he was well aware. It was simply the product of circumstance and Alfred did not fault her, but the outings gave him little shivers of embarrassment nevertheless.

At least he could distract himself with the weather, and perhaps some revisited memories.

The mere thought of Scotland sent a rush of emotion from his chest to his fingertips. Besides the unfortunate mishap with the Queen and Albert's lack of directional senses, and the subsequent night of prolonged exposure to Edward's burning copper eyes, it had been a dream come true. Slipping away from the boring and stiff 'party' to join the servants in the woods had been a fantasy of Alfred's since the thrill of such formal events had worn off. Edward's hands on his as they spun through the raucous dances, slipping away yet again for privacy by the lake...

Alfred shook his head, bringing himself back from the dreamy and surreal evenings to the too-bright sun of London. He ran his hand along Winny's flank, settling into the saddle and adjusting the strap of his helmet. Winny was a beautiful mare, all lean muscle and chestnut hair. _Nearly the exact color of Edward's eyes in the light of the setting sun,_ his mind supplied, unhelpful to the end.

He trailed just behind the carriage, letting his mind wander yet again to Scotland. Alfred relived those precious moments so often he began to forget they were real.

There was no way around it: Alfred was hopelessly in love, no matter what the law of the church said, no matter the pretty ring that adorned Florence's finger. At least he had Edward's true feelings now. He did not love her.

But what to do? Wilhelmina was a dear friend. Perhaps he could marry her, explain the circumstance, and she would understand. She could understand.

Alfred had to be realistic, though. Wilhelmina, though sweet and fairly bright, was a woman of tradition. It was more likely that he'd face the gallows should he tell her than should he not. And Florence did seem to be infatuated with Edward, so the chances were slim to none that _she_ would be forgiving.

Perhaps they could marry and still keep it a secret- affairs were anything but taboo, but an affair such as theirs would need to be covered with utmost care.

Alfred sighed. Why must it be so difficult? Why must they hide their true intentions under pretty words, should their letters be intercepted? Why must Alfred cling to that kiss with such fervor? Victoria and Albert could kiss whenever they pleased.

It made anger bubble under his skin, which was rare. God, Alfred hated being angry. He hated the destructive rush of it and the sudden urge to do the things he mustn't. He was not built for politics and the accompanying need for anger in the way Edward was.

Edward, Edward, Edward. A man like no other. A man Alfred loved dearly, having found their odd courtship of sorts better than anything he'd ever experienced. It was impossible to not think of his intellect when thinking of his looks, and vice versa. He had ensnared Alfred faster than considered healthy.

A sudden shout from the carriage yanked Alfred from his contemplative stupor, and he saw Albert's wide eyes and he saw the back of the Queen's head and he saw the man in the crowd and the pistol in his hand.

It was too late to do anything else, for the smoke of a gunshot was clouding the man's features and the bullet was racing and Albert was trying to drag Victoria down to the bottom of the carriage and Alfred spurred Winny onward and he pulled her to a halt and something pierced his chest and he was tumbling to the ground but the ground was gone and there was a blackness like no other creeping between his fingers and he thought of brown eyes and a soft smile-

••

Parliament was out for a quick break around noon, a few hours of intense debate climaxing with an unexpected outburst from Peel himself. The Corn Laws were a nasty topic for everyone and had been so for a long while, but the recent famine in Ireland and pressure from the Queen had turned a sore spot into a festering wound.

Edward scuffed his toe against the cold stone floor, watching passively as Peel rifles through a stack of papers and grumbled. Everything had seemed much less pressing after Scotland and Alfred.

He had come to a decision that night, with Alfred curled into his side (they'd snuck about the castle once the quiet assured them their friends were asleep). What was life worth if it lacked happiness? So what if happiness was loving a man?

Florence hardly deserved it either. She really was a fine woman, despite the slow and steady grudge Edward had built up against her. It wasn't her fault, and Edward figured it would be cruel to fake love. It would only break both of their hearts. So, the decision was easy- a broken engagement and a minor scandal was worth it in the end.

A page boy knocked lightly on the doorframe, a folded note in his hand. "For Sir Robert Perl, from Her Majesty the Queen."

Edward took it and thanked the boy, noticing that the Queen's loopy handwriting appeared a little shaky. Peel sighed and took it, breaking the seal and rubbing his eyes before reading it.

Sunlight streamed in from the window, illuminating the dark wood paneling and the dust swirling through the air. It really was beautiful out, though Edward still preferred the rain.

A hand brushed his arm, startling and foreign. Edward met Peel's eyes, which he swore were wet with the beginnings of tears. "You'll want to read this."

There was a horrible feeling growing in Edward's stomach, like a heavy knot of sick anticipation. He took the note and frowned at Peel.

  
_Dear Sir Robert,_

_I regret to inform you that, on my excursion this morning, we lost our dear Lord Paget to a bullet fired at me. I wished to inform you before the papers get ahold of the story for reasons I'm sure you understand. I expect you at the palace at five this evening to discuss the proper action after this diabolical event. Lord Paget's family had been informed and I believe they are making arrangements. If you will allow me to be candid and answer the questions I know you are asking, no one else was harmed. Please inform those you deem necessary. I look forward to our meeting, for I have some new ideas to discuss on the Corn Laws as well._

_The palace is going into mourning._

_Regards, Victoria_

  
It was only after the numbness in his head lifted that Edward realized his hands were shaking. He took a shuddering breath.

"That's it, son. Breathe."

"I'm sorry, Sir, I am afraid that I will be unable to continue the session this afternoon."

Peel nodded. "No apologies are necessary." Edward's hands were still shaking when Peel took the note from him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I know what he meant to you."

Edward nodded a little, his threat clenching, and then his stupid suit was too tight and the room was too hot and the world was spinning.

••

His world had been reduced to shades of gray. Black mourning clothes became the norm, and Edward could hardly find the good in anything lately. He couldn't call off the wedding now- he had no real reason to.

The palace only hurt Edward more. There, the balcony Alfred loved so much. The corner where they first met. The staircase where they had a hushed argument. He swore he could see dazzling blue eyes or a faint cloud of cigar smoke. Wilhelmina gave him sympathetic looks and Albert acted as though he were made of glass. Even the Queen herself took care not to snap at him, most likely seeing the shadows on his face or the way he looked for a golden head of hair at every formal dinner.

The funeral had come and gone in a blur. Edward helped carry the coffin and his knees nearly gave out several times on the way down the aisle of the church.

Florence had held on to his arm like an anchor, tethering him to the Earth. He watched the way Wilhelmina was allowed to grieve so openly and jealousy filled his gaze.

••

It was a relief to escape work one afternoon, nearly six months later. Edward walked through the cemetery with purpose. Spring was peaking out at last, soft green buds adorning the trees. He passed rows of neat headstones, a few patches of slushy gray snow still remaining against them and the iron fence encircling the grounds.

Edward reached the grave he sought, pressing a hand lightly to the smooth stone. It was peaceful there, in the shade of a tree, and Edward could only be grateful that Alfred could rest in a place so beautiful.

He sighed, watching a young couple pass by in the street. _If only._

There was a wedding soon, and Alfred wouldn't stand behind him as best man. There were years ahead without him, children who would never know him, and Edward clung to Scotland.

Spring was coming, and Alfred was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that was sufficiently angsty 
> 
> in this verse, Alfred dies around two weeks after they return from Scotland
> 
> ••
> 
> I may be ace, but I'm a hoe for comments <33


End file.
